The Paladin Way to Fall
by Roy Fokker 99th
Summary: The story of Arngrim, a former Iron Musketeer, and the hardships that define a Paladin. New Chapter Up! Back after a lengthy pause.
1. What Swords Reap

Based in the universe of Final Fantasy XI. Thanks to SquareEnix. I am not making a penny off of this fic. Burning in the depths of the pits of darkness, let the fires of Fair Use take you! (points to those who get it)

**The Paladin Way to Fall**

**1 - What Swords Reap**

Vana'diel. Land in turmoil, a history of blood and war. The Beastmen against the civilized. The civilized against the wall and put to the sword. Sacrifices, in twenty years, all forgotten. Races, once mighty and united, now divided. San d'Oria, Bastok, Windurst, none of the three kingdoms hold common ground now. Jeuno, the binding force that rallied the free people of Vana'diel, now finds itself increasingly isolated. The world slowly slips back into darkness, a foe believed to be sealed away forever stirring, waiting for the times to shift. The Crystal War is doomed to be a page in history that no one cares to remember. The greatest adversary walks among the people, weaving its' deceptive web, all while the good races of Vana'diel slowly adjust the noose around their necks, and await the executioner. Few, so very few try to fight the tide of history. A new age, scholars have called it. With politics at the forefront, the armies of the nations find it increasingly difficult to stem the renewed march of the Beastmen, and so they look to the willing to fight for their cause. They look to the adventurers.

One enters a Bastokan pub with two burdens, the heaviest of which he shows to very few.

He walks into the pub, exhausted. This was not a new sight to the patrons of the Steaming Sheep Restaurant. Adventurers came in from the wilds exhausted all of the time. For some of the more loyal regulars of this place, this man himself was a regular sight. Every night, around the same time, he would return from his excursions into Palborough, the stench of blood and sweat thick around him. He always carried a heavy bag upon his return, and he'd been at it for three months. Most people did not speak with him, either the smell of his fashion sense deterring them.

Today, it seemed as though he'd seen better hunts. His short brown hair was matted with his own blood, running down parts of his face. The chainmail he wore was torn in places, missing in others. Despite his apparent injuries, he hadn't lost the purpose in his stride. He still dragged the bag with him. He sat in his corner of the restaurant, and he waited, arms crossed, eyes closed.

"Mister Arngrim? I trust you'll be having water again tonight?"

Arngrim raised an eyebrow at the inquiring waitress.

"Honestly, with the way you come into this place every night, you would at least thank us for not kicking you out by ordering something other than water." She got a smile out of the man, and she feigned shock. "Oh my, I suppose tomorrow I'll have to dress my best for your return!"

"Margaret, if women like you did not exist, there would be no reason to smile. As for your…request, I will settle on something of your choice. I could eat anything at this point." Arngrim's smile faded into a wince as he readjusted himself in the seat. His client was late, and he refused to take the delivery back to his own house. He would wait.

Half an hour passed, and Arngrim was well into his meal, a sheep steak, well done, sautéed to near perfection. He tore into it, savoring his first meal of the day.

"Didn't your mother tell you to never bleed when eating at a restaurant?"

"I am on time, as you see my friend, where as you found it convenient to be late. I always thought Galka were a punctual sort." To this, the immense creature snorted derisively. Goraow attempted to find a seat, found that his frame would not quite fit in one, so he elected to stand.

"I have not been well, as it were. I do apologize, and I am sure you will find the pay to be most satisfying." He eyed the bag with some wonder. "How many this time?"

"At least allow me to finish this steak, Goraow, I deserve at least this much." The Galka nodded, but his eyes were locked onto the bag. Taking up his glass, Arngrim washed down the rest of the meal with a final swig of water. "Thirty this time. The last six ambushed me, but I suppose the exercise was needed."

"Thirty? You killed thirty Quadav? Alone?" Goraow was amazed. His questions turned a few heads of the patrons. Arngrim killed thirty Quadav? On his own? Lies! Trickery of some sort, no doubt. Perhaps if he was Elvaan, yes, but no Hume could possibly-

"Don't ask so surprised, Goraow. I am only one man, but I am a fair bit smarter than the average turtle. One by one, my friend. One by one. Until those last six, that was a good bit of running. Now I ask you this. Nine hundred-"

"Yes Arngrim, per-"

"Nine Hundred _per helm_?" The hume's eyes were alight with glee.

"Per helm, Warrior." The Galka hefted the bag over his shoulder. "I shall follow you to your quarters, where it is safer to give you the payment. Have you considered the company of a good White Mage recently? You look like hell."

"I'm not particularly religious." Arngrim grunted as he stood, the pain getting to him. "Altana this, Altana that, if such a being existed, then I need not accept your vengeance as part of my own." The Warrior waved at Margaret, waiting for the waitress to make her way to him.

"Leaving so soon? Seems you have stirred some of the crowd, Mister Avenger." The girl flashed him a smile.

"Smile more broadly, madam. See your tab on the table, and I am sure you will know what to do with the excess." Arngrim bowed slightly before turning on a heel to follow his Galka client out of the restaurant.

"Money or flattery fails with me!" She called after him. "Though it may be a healthy start." She whispered.

-

"Any particular reason why you are giving me a flat thirty thousand?" Arngrim asked as they moved to the Mog Houses at the city center.

"Why do you kill Quadav?"

"I see."

At the entrance to the residential area, Goraow poured a measure of gil to the ground, and counted out enough pieces until he had thirty thousand gil for Arngrim. The Warrior opened the bag of Helms and counted out thirty. Some were in terrible shape, with sword puncture wounds clean through them. Solemnly, the Galka nodded his approval.

"Many thanks for the payment." Arngrim said, taking the gil.

"The same to you and your services." Goraow pointed at the chainmail. "With that kind of damage, will you be prepared for tomorrow? I can understand that you may need-"

"Rest? My Moogle is excellent at this sort of damage, and by morning, I should be patched up enough for another run at the mines."

"I do not believe I will need you tomorrow." After a bow, the Galka trudged off. "When you have healed, come speak with me."

"Of course."

"Kill them all, Arngrim. Leave not one standing in those mines."

"I do not break an oath. She would not expect less of me."

Silence.

Goraow kept walking. The sound of the helms jangling in the bag echoed across the Port of Bastok. Arngrim sighed and retired to his home.

Once inside, he pulled off his equipment piece by piece. First the short sword, then the longsword. The buckler on his back, the claymore as well. Then the pieces of his armor.

"Stiltzkin!"

The Moogle was gone, probably out chatting it up with the neighbors. Well, surely he'd see the state he was in, and figure to make things better by the morning.

He glanced around at his flat; A bed, a dresser for his normal clothes, a small smithery for the moogle, and a rack for his field gear. This was all he owned, outside of what he wore. He would use the public baths in the morning. He used to live in a house with his sister that had such commodities.

He looked at a picture of the woman on the dresser. "Good night, Maya." The world faded to gray, then to black. Stiltzkin came in through the fireplace hours later, and found the exhausted man passed out mere steps from the bed.

"Please find in yourself to not spill your innards on the floor of our home." Stiltzkin said as Arngrim awoke in his bed.

"I'm sorry I nearly died, moogle." Arngrim glanced down at himself, seeing the various bandages wrapped around him.

"I even managed to bathe you, there was no way I was going to treat some of those wounds without cleaning them." The little mog threw a smithing hammer at the hume, and Arngrim batted it aside with ease.

"I'm sick you know."

"There's that stupid grin again." Stiltzkin hovered over to the bed, sticking his furry face into Arngrim's. "You're going to end up a corpse in some Altana-forsaken part of Vana'diel, and it will be your fault, you understand?" Arngrim stuck his tongue out at the moogle. "Honestly, of all the moogles on this world, I have to be the one fated to be serving a suicidal-"

"Occasionally homicidal." Arngrim added.

"-halfwit warrior who cares more about killing Quadav than his personal safety, let alone my own sanity!"

Arngrim pushed the moogle aside, chuckling as it fluttered off balance in the air, finally crashing into the wall.

"You're welcome." Stiltzkin muttered.

"I know." Arngrim looked at his armor. "It's a total loss, isn't it?"

"Absolutely, trying to repair it would just leave it weakened in the future." The moogle sighed. "What did you do, fight thirty of them at the same time?"

_Thrown against the rocks, Arngrim gasped for breath. The lead Quadav of the six, helm adorned with feathers of some kind, wielding a greatsword that was easily as long as the warrior was tall, charged him with speed that did not seem natural to the race. He spun to one side, hoping to juke the rush at the last moment, and was rewarded as the edge of the blade chipped into his side, right through the armor, during the roll, burying itself into the wall._

"No, but I did get ambushed by six of them. What of the weapons?"

"The Centurion blade is a total loss as well, fractured blade. Nothing short of a complete reforging will suffice, and I've not the materials here. The elvaan longsword is still useable, and your claymore didn't see much action did it?"

_He'd run far enough. The Quadav, now numbering three, cornered him. His back was at the water tram that would lead back to the Zeruhn Mines. Two of the Quadav advanced, sensing a kill. One swung a longsword, a powerful blow that Arngrim almost did not manage to parry. Sparks flew, and the blade flew from his hands, skittering along the dock and tumbling down the stairs to the boat._

"If it had, I wouldn't be here now."

"You'll need a new shield. The buckler is worthless."

_The greatsword had missed his body by an inch, shunted aside in a last ditch effort, now planted firmly through the metal of the docks and through his buckler. The Quadav rested atop the longsword, given to him by an Elvaan boy some time ago during a visit to San d'Oria. Neither being made a sound for a long time, only staring at one another, both out of stamina, and in the Quadav's case, out of time._

_It pulled itself away from the blade, taking a couple steps back, resting against one of the handrails on the docks. It did not take its' eyes off of Arngrim._

_The hume finally let out all of his tension, breathing heavily, shakily making his way to his feet._

_The Quadav coughed, it was a terrible sound. Sickly, weak, not at all like the fierce warrior it had been minutes ago. "Well met," it said._

"One of them spoke to me." Arngrim murmured, hands now running along the ruined buckler.

"Did it now?"

"Nothing worth mentioning."

_"W...well met." He had managed to say to the corpse of the last Quadav, before hefting his bag of helms._

"I'll need materials to work on the sword, or you can take it to a smith in the Metalworks." Stiltzkin said. "You might as well get out of here. You've got blood on the bed sheets. Another busy day, thanks to my master!" One could taste the lie. Arngrim threw on some casual wear before hastily exiting the house with useless weapon in hand, more in a hurry to get away from the fuming moogle than to repair his equipment.

-

"If it isn't the Avenger himself."

Oh no. Not her, not this morning, not right now.

"Ayame. I smelled a Musketeer. It isn't something I care to deal with today."

"Pleasant as always. I would like to speak with you." The woman hastened to add, "As equals."

Arngrim raised an eyebrow.

His history with the Iron Musketeers was a bitter one. He spared them little courtesy. Ayame, for her part, was smarter than the average Musketeer, her being of the rare Mythril variety. It didn't stop her from butting heads with the obstinate warrior from time to time.

"This is important." She insisted.

"Might I remind you," Arngrim started, his voice raising with every word, "that I have asked your people to deal with matters of import in the past? And you have sat by and done nothing?" Ayame's face betrayed how deeply those words stung.

"I-" the words caught in her throat momentarily, and she closed her eyes, counting to some number before finally loosing the arrows. "I have not ever in my entire time in theMythril Musketeers shirked my responsibilities to those who live in this country! From one who has, those accusations are laughable!"

Passing adventurers were left to gawk at the two as they marched hurriedly to their own destinations. Arngrim found this amusing to a degree. Lovers having a quarrel perhaps?

"It is far too early for this." They both growled. Pause.

"It is important." Ayame said, coughing to hide embarrassment.

"I cannot accept any missions at this time." He pointed at the Centurion's blade. "I was headed to the Metalworks to fix this." Arngrim began a brisk march to the Metalworks, and the shorter Ayame had slight difficulty keeping up with his long strides.

"You always had no finesse." She said after inspecting the blade herself. "You also cannot lie worth a damn, you carry a small arsenal with you on missions."

"I didn't have a choice, Quadav are not exactly like playing with the training dolls." He sounded miffed.

"Come back to the Iron Musketeers, Arngrim." He stopped walking.

"Hmm, they must be lead by a woman, their judgment seems to be as erratic."

"I am completely serious. Bastok needs more able-"

He studied her face. She seemed to mean it. Pretty eyes too, nice lips. The armor she wore was not her usual ceremonial gear, but the more form fitting Bastokan Chainmail, and the effect was pleasing. Did she let her hair down? She needed to do this more often, he did have a thing for the raven-haired girls. There was that look. She was saying something, but he hadn't been-

"Two things," she said. A slap was issued. "Second, despite your inability to keep your eyes focused on anything important, you are one of the more skilled men in Bastok with a sword, and you, unlike these adventurers, do not tend to stray from home very often. We could use you."

"Rest assured, I always keep important things in focus, and one of those things is decidedly not returning to the Iron Musketeers."

"Why are you afraid of coming back? You could have so much more than you have now."

"I have what I need."

"Is that why you kill Quadav?"

"It pays well enough. It doesn't replace what I lost, but it allows me to live." He swept into the Metalworks, increasing his pace. Ayame stayed close in tow.

"Killing is not a way to make a living, even if they are just beastmen."

"Perhaps you will learn their language and explain this concept to them!" his voice dripping with forced enthusiasm.

"You want to die for a memory?" she nearly cried out. He whirled on her dangerously.

"Memory? Memory? _My sister was my sister._ The Musketeers were a group of halfwitted drunkards who paraded around after hours, wielding authority on these streets as a child with a saber, while the few that did give themselves to the duty got nothing for it! My only reward from becoming one of you was that I could not be there when this memory you speak of needed me most! Bastok is a nation of self-centered fools. Industrialists! People die every day in this land, and we've stood by and let it happen, be it from the Gustan wastes to the damned Quadav. I'll not waste my life for this nation, the people in it, and I'll certainly not do it with the inept Musketeers."

"Make them adept then! Sir Vengeance, Sir Idiot! How could you turn your back on your home, your family's home? What makes you better than us? "

Another pause. Several other Musketeers in the area watched the confrontation with increased interest.

"I can't change them, I can't lead them. That is your job, and I do not wish to share in it."

"Even if that is how you feel…" Ayame's eyes were shut tightly, her breathing uneven, as if struggling to hold something back. "I want you back in. Naji, Volker, all of the others. What happened to you, Arngrim? What made you so different?"

"I learned that I should not hold a position of honor if I could not live up to the task of protecting my own family." He looked at the sword on his belt, then let it fall to the ground. "I decided I do not need to be here for any business. Good day, Ayame."

"Can you tell me what you reap with your swords, day after day?" She asked him.

"Retribution."

"Does it do anything for you?"

"Yes."

"Good day, Arngrim." The woman stalked off.

-

"No sword?" Stiltzkin asked, hours later as the hume returned to his dwelling.

"I've enough of those." Arngrim contemplated the elvaan longsword for a long time after that. "We're moving."

"Running away?" Stiltzkin managed to dodge the incoming glove.

"You can call it that. I've been thinking about giving it back to Exoroche."

"This? Does he even know it is missing?"

"A common boy gave it to me without his permission. I should not hold the weapon of an elvaan knight." Arngrim was already moving about the room, throwing together a survival pack for his journey.

"She invited you back again, did she?"

"Have I ever mentioned that you are too perceptive for your own good?" Arngrim took the half finished pack and slung it on the moogle. "Hold this." Stiltzkin crashed to the ground. "I now revoke your permission to speak."

"I'm bad at taking commands, 'swhy I couldn't join a military at all." The moogle pushed himself free. "Arngrim, do what you think is necessary. I'll have everything ready."

"Should be no more than five days. I'm not taking a chocobo." Arngrim donned a breastplate over his common wear, and over that a doublet. "San d'Oria is nice this time of year."

"Jueno if you are looking for the ladies."

"Yes, Jueno for the ladies. I taught you that one."

"Only thing of any worth. You get to where you are going safe, you miserable bastard smoothskin."

"Safe. Of course. Send good tidings to Margaret, and tell Goraow that I'll be out of the country for some time."

"What about the others? Can't make Ayame, Cornelia or any of the others feel jealous." Arngrim's eyes widened slightly. He began to pack a little faster. "Don't we have several errands for the Tenshodo as well?" The warrior finished the pack, and was now trying to force on a set of studded trousers, the difficulty coming from having his boots already on before that. "Forgot about that did we?" The moogle continued. "What about-"

"Goodbye!" Arngrim called back, dragging the claymore and his pack with one hand, the longsword in the other.

Authors Note: I do not own anything of FFXI, cannot profit from it, nor do I intend to. I was bored one evening, and began to write this. Arngrim is the name of a character from Valkyrie Profile, and also the name of my old character on the Garuda server. He was a Paladin. I deleted him after I lost an awful lot of equipment in an incident involving someone else knowing my POL password. I've been clean for months now. Arngrim is the first of a small few original characters in this fiction that could remotely be considered mine. To any who may read this and remember me from those days that I played, sorry that I left so abruptly. I needed to get out damnit! Heh, such a soul sucking piece of software. Hope you guys still have fun. FaahhhQ (most likely spelled wrong) was the best LS I ever was allowed to be in.

This iteration of Chapter 1 was made possible because of a fair number of good people, but most of all, Jeff. You are, as we are keen to say, the straight business. For realio. Preach.


	2. Convergence

Based in the universe of FFXI. Thanks to SquareEnix. I am making not one cent off of this ficcery. Foul legal demons, back I say!

**2 – Convergence**

It was unseasonably hot in Valkurm, which is to say that the desert, already a place known for the less than accommodating daytime temperatures, was more able than ever to burn through the soles of any adventurer's shoes. Which is why she ran. She kept telling herself this, and this made things okay. She wasn't particularly concerned with the pack of goblins that tailed her, and she certainly didn't mind that one of the goblins had said something about using her tail as a necklace. Bastard.

She slowed down her pace somewhat, seeing an oasis amidst the dunes. The water there didn't interest her, she had enough to last the rest of her trip.

"Nine little goblins, having their fun…" she sang softly, reaching for her quiver and her composite bow.

She kept moving until she found herself in the shade of a palm tree in the oasis. Turning to face the goblins, she found that they had slowed considerably. Use her tail as a necklace? They had to learn something about wearing that kind of armor in this heat first.

She pulled one arrow from the quiver, twirling it around lazily. Leaning against the tree, he leveled her bow at the enemy, her eyes searching among them for the one she wanted. Hearing a squeak, she glanced at her feet, and found a Valkurm leech staring right back at her.

"Hello to you too!" she said brightly.

It squeaked and shuffled off towards a small herd of its' kind. Her eyes became mere slits. Found the rotten little troublemaker. She twirled the arrow a little faster, bringing it down on the bow, the crack of the haft slapping against the bow silencing all of the leeches. Her tail slid over to the quiver and tugged at another shot.

"One made me late, and then there werrrre eight."

Inhale. Pull. Exhale. Loose.

The arrow, crafted from the carapaces of giant scorpions found in caves across Vana'diel, did not waste time getting to the target and through its' left eye, just between the view slits of the helm. The shot propelled the smaller creature off of its' feet, pinning it to the sand dune it stood on a dozen feet from the other goblins. They did not react to this very well, which is to say they were furious, which is to say that they beat a furious retreat across the sands when a second arrow nearly relieved a goblin of an arm.

The mithra scratched at her ears, shook the sand out of her short silver hair, hearing the now scattering troop wail about their misfortune. They had picked the wrong ranger to accost. She sat down in the shade, tugging at her shirt to fan herself.

A leech whimpered and hopped over to her. It reared back, obviously expecting food.

"No, I'm not letting you eat my ammunition." To that, it yelped. She reached out and pet it behind the 'ears'. "I know it's such a harrrd life. You get to sit around and eat sand all day, I get chased by goblins." She looked at the horizon. She was very late, and her client was probably going to be worried sick. The outpost was close, and another short sprint from there would get her to Selbina. And from there…

She needed to thank him.

-

"Callah, what kept you? I was worried you'd been taken down the by the desert." The mithra shrugged at the hume, a rat of a man, shorter than she was, and somehow less muscular.

"Goblins. They won't trouble me again." She pointed at her quiver of arrows. "Another mission from the Tenshodo?"

"No. This one comes from another." Callah bared her fangs and picked up the scrawny hume, slamming him against the wooden wall of the inn they chose to meet behind. "The hell do you-"

"Not frrrrom the Tenshodo!" _Not from… Him._

"No, no! Calm down Callah! This will pay you good money! I swear it!"

"What worth is it? He didn't give this assignment out, did he?" She sounded hurt.

"Aldo is a busy man, and there are thousands of adventurers supporting the organization. Missions from them are not as plentiful as there are supporters." The blond man readjusted his black robes. "Must you mithra be such a rough people?"

"Can I meet him after this?"

"If he has the time." He presented a hand painted image of another hume. "Kill him. The man who asked me this did not care how it was done. Just that it be done immediately." Callah looked at the picture, studying the face of the unsuspecting target.

"I am not an assassin."

"Two hundred thousand gil up front." The man's voice was even, deadpan. She just about fainted.

"W-Who wants him dead so badly?" she managed to ask, now looking at the picture with more interest. He seemed plain enough for a hume, the artist captured that much easily. Shoulder length brown hair, eyes of matching color. Said to be six feet tall, seven inches taller than she was. "Up…up _front_?"

The black robed man started counting the pieces from a bag he held, scratching them deeply with a dagger to show authenticity. Bastokan gil. It was real. _Oh Altana, no it couldn't. This is a lie, this is not real._

"One hundred and fifteen thousand." The robed man marked another gil plate. Golden, engraved with the mark of Bastok in cerulean mythril.

"Who is the one who gave you this assignment?"

"He did not say."

-

The desert would make a poor place for an ambush. She would need to find a better place to do such an act. The target was said to be traveling through San d'Oria to parts unknown. There were many places prepare an ambush.

_I'm not a murderer, this is business. If I can see Aldo after this, and give him my thanks, then the life of one common hume can be taken to see one who saved my life._

She stared at the picture.

_Sorry, whoever you are. My life debt is more important than your life._

La Theine Plateau then. Any adventurer with a set of brains would head to the largest freshwater source after crossing the desert, and the Ephemere was a straight shot to those interested in a faster, dangerous path. She would wait here.

_I've never done this before._

The artist of the picture had captured a smile on his face.

_Aldo._

She dipped another arrow into a caustic brew she had synthesized herself. A direct hit would kill the man, and would be mercifully quick about it.

"_Grab on to my hand!"_

"_Aldo! I'm not going to make it!"_

"_My sister would never forgive me if I left you! Now grab my hand!"_

Another arrow prepared. She watched the water of the small lake, watching the fish break the surface to feed. It was the end of the mating season for the local crab population, but they were still out in greater numbers than usual, the sight of so many out and about on the shores of the lake unique in Vana'diel.

_"I lost all of my family. My mother fought them, and the beastmen broke through, and I'm- I am all that remains!"_

_"So am I. We're survivors."_

_"Why are you smiling then?"_

_" I know I am not alone. If I can survive, then you can. Callah, I am headed to San d'Oria. Would you accompany me?"_

_"Yes!"_

"But I never made it there with you!" Callah said, her voice filled with raw emotion.

_"Aldo! ALDO! I'll find you! I will find you!"_

_"I believe you, now get going!"_

_-_

_Concentrate. See the wound close, feel it. Channel your spirit, your faith._

She wore the attire of an accomplished Red Mage, the very same color splashed most of her clothing. Her feather cap was off kilter, revealing stray strands of red hair, and blue eyes focused on the writhing young male elvaan under her palms.

"Stop moving…" she whispered. With sallow eyes, the boy stared back into hers.

Slowly, the place where an orc had impaled the young one closed, memories, dried blood, and torn cloth were all that remained of the experience. Around the two elvaan were the corpses of several orc, burned in various ways, cut or stabbed, but most important of all, dead, at the hands of this red mage.

She helped the boy to his feet. She had been traveling through west Ronfaure and fortunately for the child had come across the orc preparing the child for a feast. A very cliché situation, to be sure. Sadly, it was one that was happening far too often. The beastmen were on the move.

"Who are you? Th-thank you very much for saving me!"

"I am Variste Mellanege."

"I'm lost." The boy confessed.

"Well then, Lost, let us get you to the city gates." She patted the boy on the head. Then she shoved him to the side, drawing her weapon once again. _Orcish Farkiller? So close to the capital?_

The orc in question was a fair distance away, using the local shrubbery for camouflage. In the forest, it blended well with the surroundings. This early on a Watersday, the mist was making conditions even worse.

She knocked an arrow aside with a deft flick of the dagger she wielded. The movement blew a gust of wind that pushed the boy farther away. _It's… It still wants to protect me?_

_"Take this… A gift from the gods…" the hume spoke, lips cracked, life blood draining away faster by the second._

_"Keep it! I am a White Mage, and I do not need such a weapon!"_

_"She will protect you when you need it most… She will protect us all…"_

_"Stop it! STOP IT!"_

_He wouldn't stop bleeding! He wouldn't-_

_"Altana! ALTANAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" she cried. "Make it stop!"_

_He was falling apart under her hands, her healing hands, blessed by the gods, and yet-_

Her right hand lifted up in front of her face. Even at this distance, she could tell by the body language of the orc that the defeat of its' arrow was greatly unsettling. It was about to get worse.

She formed seven seals with the hand, each seal held a meaning. Another gust of wind.

"Ninpo! Utsusemi: Ni!"

She ran at the orc.

A second arrow was fired, wide, to her left, killing the duplicate shadow of her with ease and burying itself into a tree. A third, this one wide to her right. She was close now. A fourth arrow, just missing her head, taking off the feathered hat.

Her right hand formed another set of seals.

"Ninpo, Tonko: Ichi." She whispered.

In its' last moments, the orc saw the elvaan woman vanish from sight. Immediately afterwards, it saw a flicker of movement, a pair of daggers falling past the edges of its' sight and then-

The orc, its head rolling down a small part of the hillside, fell to the ground with a wet thump. Variste stored one dagger into a pocket on the inside of her aketon jacket, having come open when she prepared for the kill. The other dagger, Garuda's Dagger, slid into its' own small sheath next to a rapier.

"It's safe now." She smiled at the boy.

"What was that? What kind of mage are you?"

"One of Altana's lost sheep. Come on, the city will be much safer than around here."

"You're strange."

"And you are lost in your own front yard." She took the boy's hand, and they took their leave of the orcish campground.

-

"Thank you! Thank you milady!" the father was saying. Variste nodded, accepting the praise detachedly. She found herself staring at the dagger. "My son, he would have been dead if not for you!"

"I did the right thing. I have these healing hands for a reason."

_"ALTAAAANAAAAAAAA! WHY DID YOU TAKE HIM?"_

"Do you need anything? Anything at all? I am a blacksmith, I can make you weapons, armor, anything! For the life of my boy, no reward is too great."

"No, no. I did what anyone would do. I cannot accept your gift, I have long since lost my loyalty to my home." She put the dagger away into its' sheath. "Forgive me, I should be going."

"Your name, madam. Please?"

_"Variste… There comes a time where faith alone cannot save those you love." He had said._

_"Altana… Does she not care for us? Love us?"_

_"Altana is nothing that concerns this world any longer. I can give you the path." The elvaan in black gently turned her face away from the summoner, still as the stones that dotted the plains. "I learned that to protect others, one must accept the fact that we must forsake religion. Our faith. The shadows are a lonely path, but they also lead to salvation."_

_She held the dagger with both of her pale hands._

_"He gave this to me…"_

_"I will await you in Norg. Come alone." The mercenary began to walk away. "Either path you take, you will not be alone. You and I are all that remain of us. I will watch over you."_

"I understand." The father's eyes showed that he recognized the name. "My adopted son was with you then. Carry on then, adventurer."

"I could not let a father lose a second child." Variste said as she left the home.

She should not have come back.

-

He'd long since removed the doublet upon reaching the desert. The simple cloth underneath the breastplate was unbearable, but to have his skin burned by the heated armor would have been worse. He trudged through the desert, exhausted. Was it a mistake to have left the safety of the cave so soon? La Theine was a good day's walk from where he stood, Selbina was looking far more inviting, and closer. If not for some rest, for some pub girls, or some damned water.

"Ah, Arngrim, you stubborn bastard. What did you get yourself into?"

Selbina it was then.

The damselfly herds across the sands droned on, lost in the winds and the blowing sand. He held the elvaan longsword in one hand, trying to stay alert. He shielded his face with his free hand, trying to see. Straight on, if he hadn't wandered off course, a very real possibility. He could hear Stiltzkin now, berating his choice to venture out on foot. He had meant it to be a way to give himself time to think. _Always have I needed to find out about things the hard way._ He certainly had made good time! Two days out from Bastok, and he was here dying in the dunes. He might have made it here in a day if he had taken a chocobo. Had he requisitioned the services of a capable mage, he could have been in San d'Oria by now.

"Need to give this back." He shook the blade at the sand, as if it was responsible for his predicament.

"Alone without water are we?" Arngrim spun around, searching for the new voice. The sandstorm intensified for a moment, but soon enough, a black robed hume was visible.

"I've enough."

"Not nearly. Care for a sip?" The blond hume proffered a canteen. Arngrim nodded in thanks before taking it. "The name is Galanin, a pleasure."

"Arngrim Gustavos. Point me to La Theine, if you could."

"Headed for San d'Oria?" The newcomer adjusted his spiky blond hair. "You were in the Iron Musketeers. I heard about you."

"Good to know. The reality is that I eat, drink, and kill."

Galanin could see, even in this sandstorm, that this was a beaten man. Not by the desert, but by something else.

"I am giving this sword back to its owner you see."

"To the northeast, friend. We can get to the Ephemere by the late afternoon if we move now. Never enough water, if you ask me."

"Then let us continue." Arngrim smiled. "I suppose the company is not so bad after all."

-

Variste had left the capital on foot, her eyes focused more on Garuda's Dagger than her path. Gods, it still hurt! Why did it still hurt? She shook her head, angry at herself. She shouldn't cling to the past so! She'd been taught to be a better woman than this! Unnacceptable!

The tears still came, and she tried to hide them, shut her eyes tightly. Ramir. They lived together. Trained together. Sinned together. A quest for San d'Oria later, and she was alone-

Not alone, the master had taken her in, had tried to help her forget the past. And here she was, a sad little girl near the borders leading to La Theine.

"Ma'am, are you well?" the knight on duty at the outpost moved away from her post, placing a hand on Variste's shoulder.

"I'll be fine." The woman blinked away the signs of her being otherwise.

_One last time then, Ramir. I need to let you go._

Why had she come back to San d'Oria?

She could be at their lake in an hour.

-

"You work for the Tenshodo?" Arngrim asked as they caught first sight of La Theine Plateau.

"The robes give it away?" Galanin laughed. "Yes, it's how I heard of you. You recently got some recognition from Aldo himself, something to do with safeguarding a shipment of goods to Jeuno from Bastok. I decided I'd ask around about you."

"I didn't think there was much to be found out about me." The warrior sighed. "The Iron Musketeers sealed a lot of my records after I left them upon my request." Arngrim tapped the hilt of his weapon. "I'll pay the organization back within a few days. Once I finish with this errand, I am off to Jeuno."

"Talk with the big man himself?" Galanin whistled. "Even I don't get to speak with him." He noted Arngrim's hand moving along the hilt of the longsword. "I'm no debt collector. If I was, you'd be in a lot more trouble. Turns out, I've got a few debts to pay myself. After this next job, I'll be home free." The monk bounced into the air. "Yes indeed! Free of debts!"

"If we could all share your boundless energy, Galanin." Arngrim took another gulp of water. "How long until the Ephemere?"

"Good water there." Galanin mused. "At this pace, taking the main roads, about three hours."

Thunder rumbled in the air.

"We better hurry before that storm hits. On the plus side, I can get us a few crabs and make a meal out of them." The monk moved his cloak to one side, revealing hidden daggers, a pair of katars, and a pan of some sort. "Gotta eat, you know."

-

Callah shifted reflexively to sight in on the new arrival to the lake._ Red Mage? Why is she…_

The elvaan woman in question fell to her knees before the lake, and sobbed once, clearly fighting for greater control over her grief. Callah sighed. Another one with lost loves, a tragic past, you name it. Everyone had one of those these days, a gil a dozen really. The war twenty years prior was terrifying to the mithra to this day, those memories of her family, the murderers over their bodies. So many had fallen then.

Callah found herself wanting to leave the perch in the tree, wanting to talk to the mage. She had her own misgivings about life at the moment. That she accepted so much gil to end another was chief among them.

Then, coming over a hill, she saw two figures. _Only this once, Altana forgive me, only this once._

"What's with that elvaan?" Galanin asked aloud. He scanned the trees.

"I can't believe I made this distance in such short time." Arngrim mused. "How can you tell that is an-"

"Eyes, my friend, and the ones I've been given are quite excellent."

"Can I really keep this weapon, Ramir?" Variste asked softly, stroking the soil near the lake almost lovingly. "Do I really need such a thing?"

A light rain began to fall over La Theine.

Author's Note: Well, chapter two was completed officially at 3:45 AM on January 31, 2005. I have received a pair of very encouraging reviews, and people outside of have given me constructive criticisms and praise, which helped this chapter along. To those who review my story, and have their own works waiting to be reviewed in kind, I apologize for not returning the favors. Life has thrown several curveballs my way. Also, to those who may or may not notice, I will have replaced the version of chapter one you see with one that I edited using comments I received from others. It should be a bit more enjoyable. As always, I appreciate reader comments, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.

And like a man ten minutes out of rehab already doing lines of coke with the same undercover police officer who threw him in jail three years prior, I have returned to FFXI. I'm a warrior on Remora, though I will leave his name as a surprise in the next chapter. Good afternoon, good evening, and good night!


	3. Kin

Based in the universe of FFXI. Thanks to SquareEnix for the source material, and for that one goblin that had it in for me on 2/1/05. Little bastard crits me three times _in a row_.

**3 – Kin**

_Is it him?_ Callah asked herself. If it was, she didn't have much time. Most adventurers could pick out the unnatural with relative ease, and a mithra sitting on a tree branch with a bow pointed at you definitely counted as unnatural. Any closer and they'd spot her. Who was that other man? She pulled out an arrow. A good hundred feet away now, it was a longer shot than she liked. Another thunderclap. She started to shake. If lightning was going to become an issue, then this wasn't going to work at all.

She had pinned the picture of the target to the tree with a knife, and she glanced between it and the brown haired man. _Sorry._ Inhale, pull.

"Arngrim, it is definitely not a good time to settle down for a meal." Galanin said.

"Not only a monk, but an astute observer." Arngrim chuckled.

Variste heard a very unsettling sound, that of an arrow being prepared. She looked to her left, and saw the shooter, a mithra-

Exhale, loose.

The shot reached Arngrim within a second, punching through the breastplate, into his right lung. He stood still for a moment, in complete shock.

"Arngrim!" Galanin cried out.

Callah watched with dismay as the warrior did not fall from the shot immediately as she had planned. In fact, he reached for his weapon, a longsword. A second shot was already in her hands, whirling quickly as she pulled it from the quiver, slapping it against the bow as she hastily prepared a second strike.

Arngrim's head cocked up to the trees, hearing something hit-

A second arrow flew from where he was watching, faster than he could react. It had hit a branch on the way to him, which saved his life. It hit him in the stomach, off center. He staggered back a step, and gasped. He felt the sword leave his grasp, falling to the soil at his feet.

He tried to speak, but found that he could barely move his mouth. His body felt incredibly stiff, and an intense burning sensation was tearing through his veins. Gods. He hadn't been hit with something like this since-

Why was Galanin not taking cover?

The monk stared at the two arrows impassively, almost as if he were studying the design. One hand raised up to the arrow in Arngrim's abdomen, gripped it.

"This is going to hurt." He said.

-

_What in all the hells is he?_ Callah was nervous. Two arrows, poisoned with what was supposed to be lethal toxins, and he still stood.

Something landed behind her, and Callah turned to see what it was. Stared at the dagger at her throat. Followed the hand that held it up the arm it was attached to, and eventually to the face of a less than pleased elvaan woman.

"Howdy." The mithra beamed at the woman, before baring her fangs. "This is business. You had best back off."

The elvaan seemed more concerned with the well being of the wounded hume, her eyes wandering towards his location. Callah took this for an opening, lunging at her with an arrow in hand for a makeshift dagger. The elvaan caught the oncoming strike, twisting Callah's arm in such a fashion that she yelped in pain, bending it behind her back. Another jerk of the wrist, and the arrow fell to the ground below. Callah felt immense pressure on her right shoulder, gasped, and jerked herself forward with as much strength she could muster.

Variste let her opponent go, and the mithra nearly face faulted into the branch, but at the last moment, she vaulted up into the air into a forward flip, notching an arrow into her bow and sighting in on Variste's head.

Callah twisted herself to face her new opponent upon landing and fired. The elvaan batted the shot aside. A low growl uttering from her throat, readied another arrow, moving forward as she did. She loosed the bolt about two feet from the other woman's head.

Variste lunged forward, ducking just underneath the arrow, moving Garuda's Dagger once more to the mithra's neck. She found herself staring at a third arrow pointed at her left eye. Neither one moved.

"Why did you have to get involved?" Callah demanded to know.

"I am tired of seeing people die in front of me."

"Happens all the time. I've lost my family."

"I've lost that and more. Does that give me the right to judge a life?"

Arngrim's scream caught both their attentions.

-

Galanin had shoved the arrow clean through his torso, and then tore it out. Finally, the warrior fell to the ground. He knelt on the man's stomach, watching his face twist between agony and betrayal.

The monk took the arrow in the chest and pulled on it lightly. Angrim coughed out blood, his eyes directing hapless fury at the traitor. Wiping a few specks of blood that had gotten on his face, Galanin turned towards the tree where the arrows had been issued from. "Callah, would it trouble you to be more _effective_ with your next shot?" Galanin stepped off of Arngrim, pacing around him slowly.

-

"What is that man worth to you?" Callah asked, feeling the dagger kiss the skin on her neck. "He's just a hume!"

"To me, he's a man I witnessed be shot with two arrows, and then be assaulted by some monk." Variste grabbed the arrow and shifted away from her face. "What is he to you?"

"Two hundred thousand gil, and the chance to see a man I thought I could never see again."

"Is that all?" Variste frowned. "I don't have any more time left for you."

-

"Arngrim, you probably are wondering, 'Why is this monk, this Galanin, trying to kill me? Weren't we just companions mere moments ago? What has changed?' Well my friend, it is all about money, and I am going to be making a literal ton of it," he glanced back at where Callah was supposed to be, "once that _useless wench decides to finish what she starts!_"

A small whirlwind of leaves appeared behind the monk, and a striking woman appeared in the center of it.

"Elvaan." Galanin sneered. "Another woman."

"Something against women?" Variste inquired. The monk smiled, facing the mage.

Arngrim figured he had the advantage now that Galanin had decided to ignore him in favor of the woman. He leapt to his feet and charged at him, his sword cutting a vertical arc down towards the man's head.

Galanin stepped to one side, and the sword planted itself into the earth. One of his feet stomped on the blade, driving it deeper into the ground, and he spun, kicking Arngrim in the right wrist, knocking the weapon loose from his hand. The warrior had a split second to be surprised at the sudden turn of events before Galanin delivered a kick to the side of his head. He spiraled away from the impact, landing on his side painfully, the arrow in his chest driven deeper inward.

Variste watched the movement with silent praise in her mind. She was up against a very skilled opponent. Her right hand came up, forming several seals.

"Interesting." Galanin commented. Both hands began forming seals in synch with hers.

"Ninpo! Katon: Ni!" Variste thrust her palm forward, flame issuing forth from it.

"Ninpo! Raiton: Ni!" Electricity built up around Galanin in an instant, then arced outward to meet the stream of flame head on.

They both backpedaled from the resulting conflagration, Variste stunned that he used a ninjutsu, let alone one that would-

She felt her world rock with the force of an earthquake as Galanin delivered a backhand to the side of her head from behind. She tumbled with the momentum, coming up to her feet in one smooth motion, her body already fading from his sight.

"Excellent!" Galanin commented, just before performing an elbow strike to his backside, catching Variste in the breadbasket as she rushed in from behind. She staggered back, eyes wide with shock, only to be swept off of her feet by the monk, landing hard on her back. He picked up the taller woman by the neck, only to have the body disappear in a burst of wind and leaves. He looked back at Arngrim, who was now accompanied by the mage.

"You're a ninja?" Arngrim managed to ask.

"You're still alive?" she shot back, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. Placed her hands on his lower arrow wound. "I don't think I can-"

"Whatever you can manage."

Galanin spread his arms as if in greeting and waited.

-

Callah watched.

She always watched things happen from a distance. It was just how life was meant to be for her. Always with one eye closed to the world, the point of an arrow and her bow obscuring what little she could see through her one opened eye. The elvaan's hands glowed a faint blue, she was attempting to heal the wounds with the little time she had. Useless, even if the man had a resistance to the poison, it would take hours of effort to deal with something that serious.

What was she doing here?

She looked at the bag of gil that Galanin had given her. She could be set for the next few years with this kind of money.

_Is that all? Is that all? What the hell does that elvaan know?_

She watched as the target and his new ally slowly flanked Galanin, who appeared unconcerned with the odds. Watched as the elvaan made the first move, rushing in with two daggers in hand, only to be disarmed in mere seconds. The monk threw one of the daggers at her that, deflected when she unsheathed her rapier to put up a desperate defense. The target moved in, trying to close the distance with Galanin. The monk responded by thrusting the dagger at his face, but the target was skilled enough to trap the strike. The elvaan moved in with a thrust of the rapier, but Galanin shifted to one side, parrying the weapon to one side, and she blundered her attack into the target's ribcage.

Frozen by the sight of what she had just done, she was wide open to a vicious right cross from the monk. As she whirled from the force of the blow, Galanin unleashed a kick to her face, knocking her flat on her back. She did not move after that.

The target had pulled the rapier from his body, taking a few practice strokes with it. What was he thinking? He was going to die anyway. Why was he resisting?

Callah found her hands clenching very tightly to the gil purse.

-

Variste's ears rang, and her vision was clouded with pain-induced haze. She couldn't help the man any longer. He was going to die anyway.

She could see him still standing, wounded, a bloody mess, but he had a gambler's smile on. He held her rapier in his sword hand shakily, but he didn't show any intention of giving up just yet.

He's just like- 

"Ramir?" she asked, before falling unconscious.

Galanin looked at the elvaan once more, to make sure she wasn't going to present any more difficulty.

"Well then, Arngrim, I suppose I had better tidy things up here." He lifted up one hand and beckoned the former Mustketeer to come at him.

"I suppose."

"She said she was going to use a poison…"

"She did, if you mean these arrows." His smile grew broader. "I've had this brew on twelve separate occasions."

"Ah." Galanin reached into his cloak, and slipped his hands onto the grips of his katars.

Arngrim made the first move, a slice aimed at Galanin's eyes. It was blocked easily enough; the monk wore armored forearm gauntlets to use as his defense. Galanin lead himself in with the katars, going for vitals. The warrior managed to hook one of the weapons with the rapier, pulling the surprised monk past him, wide open.

Arngrim cut the monk across the back, blood spraying into the air and onto the grass. Galanin staggered forward a step, then he roared in anger, throwing one of the katars at him, missing by a hairbreadth. Lightning struck the lake, momentarily blinding the two. Slowly, they circled one another. Galanin began to form seals with his free hand.

"Raiton! Soudai Raikou!"

Arngrim heard only the first part of the spell. He threw the rapier into the sky and back dashed-

A second bolt of lightning struck the rapier out of the air, driving it into the ground. Galanin paid this no mind, forming more seals.

"Ninpo! Jubaku: Ni."

Arngrim suddenly felt very cold, almost numb. He couldn't even open his mouth to speak. Galanin looked very pleased with himself.

"I remember how this is supposed to go. I am supposed to be the spider." The monk walked forward, drawing back his remaining katar and aiming for Arngrim's throat. "Pleasure meeting you, fly." He thrust the katar forward.

A single arrow point found a home inside his right elbow joint. Galanin screamed with pain, aborting his strike on Arngrim, and nursing the wounded arm. Furious, he looked to where the arrow came from, and saw Callah, tossing the gil purse into the air casually.

"I don't need your damned money."

She ran forward, tossing the bag at Galanin's head. He backhanded it aside, tearing the bag open and scattering the precious contents across the field. Through the cloud of gil, an arrow streaked through, and he caught it. He saw Callah running, trying to flank him and move towards Arngrim, preparing something that was clipped to her waist as she did. Smoke began to trail from the sphere like thing she was fiddling with, and she tossed it at Galanin.

The ball exploded, knocking Arngrim and Galanin off their feet. Arngrim coughed, shaking off the paralysis. Callah ran towards him, yanking the battered hume off the ground as she moved.

"I don't know who you are, but I owe you this much." She said, propping against another tree. She turned around to see where Galanin was, and found that he was less that ten feet away.

She dodged the kick to her face, didn't even see the body blow coming. As she doubled over, Galanin grabbed her by the head and lifted her up, slamming her against Arngrim, knocking him over, then slamming her against the tree until he could see blood issue from the back of her head and onto the tree bark.

"You…shouldn't use that arm…you might hurt it worse." She spat on the monk's face.

"The woman has a point, Galanin."

It was as if someone had turned a lever on a machine, as Galanin let the mithra fall to the ground limply, coming to a knee out of respect for-

_When did that show up?_ Callah asked herself, before her world faded to the same color of the new arrival's armor.

"Sir." Galanin uttered.

"So he's gotten stronger has he?" the black armored man spoke in measured, educated tones.

Arngrim found himself scrambling for a weapon that he didn't have. The claymore strapped to his back was in no way a good choice for this situation. No weapon was. The longsword was a good distance away.

He wanted to claw his eyes out. He wanted away from there, not a second later. He was not terrified, but he was angry. He didn't want this. Memories wrapped in dark armor, a terrible scar across one eye, marring an otherwise perfect face. He had fallen, he watched him fall down the Drachenfall, into the waters far below. He had made certain of it!

"Arngrim, a man I have not seen in two years."

"And you, a man I wished I could never see again."

"There always must be sacrifices." The man intoned, gripping the hilt of a massive great sword that was strapped to the back of his obsidian armor. "I still have loyalty to one cause, Arngrim. The one that matters most."

Putting both hands on his claymore's grip, Arngrim pulled it loose, cutting cleanly through the tree as he did.

"Arbalest, I will see you dead!"

Author's Note: Ah, this was fun. It's not been proofread or anything, but I really wanted to get this up for people to look at. Of course, constructive criticism is appreciated.

Couple things. If anyone has seen the anime series Naruto, then the style of the ninjutsu casting that you see in the story is very familiar for that very reason. It bothers me that the ninja's just cast the spells like any other mage does in the game, so I figured I would give that job class a little fanservice.

Also, I have gone and made the fighting a little more towards the extreme side of things as a whole. The game is great, but I'll be damned if you read anything from this story that involves six people chipping away at a single target for twenty minutes. Hopefully, you folks will find this pleasant : ) Till next chapter!


	4. Responsibilities

Based off of the universe of FFXI, created by SquareEnix. Don't screw up FFXII, guys!

**4 – Responsibilities**

_Two men, one clad in armor that exuded evil, one in ramshackle, mismatched armor that exuded practicality, clashed their great swords amidst a storm that grew worse by the moment. There was nothing said between the two, merely the screams of hatred that drove these two onward towards an ending they have desperately sought._

Variste snapped awake quite suddenly. She felt for Garuda's Dagger, Ramir's-

Where it should have been. Where it was. Why? The monk had-

What had happened?

_They ran parallel to one another, waiting for the other to make the first move. The brown haired one looked exhausted, blood running down from his wounds, washing away in the rain. They clashed their heavy weapons as if they were half their true weight, moving faster than they should have_.

She remembered bits and pieces of the fight, remembered just how hard that monk hit. She tried to stand, and found herself falling immediately back down to her back, her head assaulted by a terrible ache. When it had subsided, she settled for sitting upright. She took in her surroundings.

Trees had been cut down in places around the Ephemere. A boulder, one that she could remember sitting atop of when Ramir had been with her, was cleaved in two. Another boulder, this one the size of a small cottage, had what remained of a darksteel great sword sticking out of it. Pits, burn marks, it was the sight of a war. Only this-

_Their weapons shattered, they now fought with hands and feet, no finesse, no rationality. This was a story of men killing each other._

"A war fought by only two people." The hume's voice said from behind Variste. She turned, seeing the brown haired man leaning haggard against a tree. She noticed that the mithra lay next to her, bound, to be certain, but alive.

He was dying.

"I…found your weapons… A red mage turned ninja…something new…"

She saw her degen, still caked with this man's blood, extended back to her, grip first. He was holding onto the blade, allowing it to cut deeply into his palm.

"Who are you?" Variste immediately began to effect repairs on herself. The sooner she could be up and moving, the sooner she could begin her work on this man.

"Arngrim…but that really…doesn't matter."

"So we have a name." She hadn't required much in the way of curative magic, she'd simply been knocked out. There was only one other man who could deal with her so dismissively, so far as she knew. She moved over to the man, her eyes locked firmly on the trail of blood he left behind, dragging himself against anything that could be used to support him. Taking the proffered weapon out of his hand, Variste helped the man sit. His head lolled back, and he appeared to want to fall asleep. "No, you have to stay awake, do you understand?" She spoke soothingly, trying to keep him calm, trying to keep him from shaking as much as he had been.

"You…should help that cat first…"

"No, I should help you, you probably have people that are waiting for you." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. _Not again, not again, not like this._ "Altana, bless this body with your strength." Blue light encompassed the two. Slowly, his wounds appeared to seal themselves ever so slowly. He was still bleeding.

"I can't beat him you know…"

"Forget about that. A man in black, I keep seeing him too. Forget him."

"I don't have…what I need…"

"You have to stop shaking… can you manage that?"

He complied after taking a few deep breaths. She felt herself growing weary. His injuries were improving, but it would take time.

Arngrim felt strength return to him, enough to feel his body begin to stabilize. He looked to the sky, still dark with clouds.

_"Hate me, Arngrim. Despise me. Blame me for everything. Only when you truly hold these feelings in your heart can you ever stand against us."_

"I think… you'll be okay Arngrim." The woman breathed a sigh of relief.

_"We are the neglected Children of Bastok. We are what the leaders of the nation used as tools. To make right, we must cut out the excess_."

"Bastard…" Arngrim muttered. He started to laugh. Variste drew back somewhat, not sure what he was referring to.

_"Blame me, Arngrim. Blame me for your inability to protect her."_

"BASTARD!" Arngrim screamed, suddenly rising to his feet, knocking Variste on her rear. He reared back and shouted at the sky, a miserable sound, whirled on the tree, pounding it with his hands. "I fought… I fought for people." Sinking to his knees, the man reared back and pounded his head into the bark. "And you fought for a goddamned rank!"

Variste slowly reached out to comfort the man, found that her hands were running along his back.

"Help the cat." Arngrim said.

"Can you promise not to do that again?" He turned to face Variste, a small grin on his face.

"It's something I will look into." He coughed out blood, and settled himself against the tree once again. "Have you ever felt helpless?"

"What?"

"I could feel him. I could hit him. I could taste his blood. But I couldn't-"

"Yes, I have." They remained silent for the rest of the day.

-

She was utterly exhausted, but her work was finally finished. Arngrim had long since fallen asleep, but at least for the moment it was safe for him to have done so. The mithra hadn't awakened during her treatment, even when Variste had moved her to be seated next to Arngrim for warmth. She even made a small fire for them, one that was slowly burning out as the moon rose over La Theine.

She didn't need to be here. She'd done her part. She needed to go see the master.

She gathered her things. Arngrim had found Garuda's Dagger, something so valuable, she was convinced that the monk would have taken it to spite her. He'd retrieved it for her. The fencing degen, awarded to her for accomplishments a year before by the Crimson Mage guild, he'd given that back to her.

The mithra could have killed her, she realized. She hadn't, she'd hesitated. She should have killed Arngrim, she had enough skill to do so. Her poison hadn't done the trick, but any ranger of her skill would have shot for the head.

"I have a feeling that we've just gotten involved in something rather troublesome." She knelt near the two sleepers. Arngrim was safer around this mithra than he was around that monk, or that black armored figure she had seen in her mind.

She saw that the longsword he had come to the battle with was off to one side. Curious, she picked it up to examine it, and she nearly dropped upon reading the name engraved on the hilt.

Why did Arngrim have it?

Variste thought for a long time on the implications of it. In the end, it was placed blade first into the ground before the sleeping couple.

"This isn't necessarily farewell."

-

Arngrim's eyes slowly opened, roused by the sunrise. He was still alive. He blinked the remnants of sleep away, taking in his surroundings. No, he hadn't been in the throes of a gripping nightmare that encompassed the last three days of his life. The scenery showed that much.

_"Arbalest, I will see you dead!"_

The longsword was planted in the ground in front of him, almost as a parting gift. The elvaan was gone. Pity. She had been a pretty thing. She also had saved his life. How many people could claim that, and how many of them would he ever see again? In the last two years of his adventuring, there had been so many people he would accompany on their little side trips, their hunts. He rarely saw them again afterwards.

Arngrim gave a silent thanks to the woman. She had even been kind enough to have removed his breastplate, and set it to his side. Clearly, he was alive through the efforts of an experienced healer. It would be nice to be so lucky in the near future.

Arbalest was making moves towards something unpleasant. He wasn't sure what, but his simple move to San d'Oria became very complicated. He was going to need this weapon for a little while longer, if he really intended to do something about that chapter of his past. He would need to tell Epione… That was a sad tale. He'd left behind such a wonderful young woman, and for what? Something that he could not tell his own brother, something he saw on that day, two years ago, in Palborough.

_"Arngrim, you know why I did not follow you into the musketeers?"_

_"You've no loyalty to this nation or it's leaders. That is fine, you fight for-"_

_"I do have loyalty. This is my home. I do not wish to die for it behind its' walls."_

_"Who says I am going to die?"_

_"The real threat, Arngrim, is not the Quadav from the north. It's much farther away, and armies cannot combat it if they stay at home. Why do you think I am paid so well?"_

_"I would much rather die at home than in some forsaken land hundreds of miles away."_

_"Then, you will never understand what I see."_

What were his goals now?

He felt something warm rub against his bare arm. His head snapped to look at what it was, ready for combat, and found the mithra, still bound, had rolled to one side. Was she purring?

"Aldo… I made it to Sandy, Aldo…"

He nearly burst out laughing. Having spoken to the man in question, he could see where this was going. The girl had some kind of infatuation with him, and this was not surprising. Despite the life he led, Aldo of the Tenshodo was blessed with roguish good looks. She probably had seen him from afar.

She looked innocent enough, for a mithra. Innocence and mithra were often words that did not fit well together. This one certainly was not an exception, although…

"Hey, wake up. I've got questions, and you have answers." He nudged her face, trying not to startle her. If she was still set on finishing a contract- No, she had saved him. He remembered now, how she had used an explosive to break him out of whatever technique Galanin had restrained him with. Skilled indeed.

_Why am I still alive?_

"Wake up, or I will leave you tied up here with the crabs. I hear they are at the peak of their season, one may find your tail an attractive mate."

She stirred, purred, and then stretched herself as best she could while bound at her wrists and ankles. Eyes, green as emeralds, opened themselves to the world.

"Good morning, target…" She yawned.

"Is that what I am to you?"

"Were." She leaned forward and tugged at the ankle bonds. "This isn't going to do, if you really wanted to tie me up and have your way with me, this isn't going to do at all."

"I do not wish to smell like a sardine, thanks." Arngrim leered. She stuck her tongue out at him. He picked her up by both wrists, rising quickly to his feet, lifting the mithra off of the ground, holding her against the tree. His other hand reached back and picked the longsword and held in menacingly at her throat. "Who sent you?" he bellowed.

"I didn't kill you, so what does it matter?" she shot back. "You wouldn't under-"

"Arbalest? Galanin? I am not playing your stupid little cat games, I will leave you here with my blade in your throat!"

"Who the hell is Arbalest? I've never hearrrd that name in my life!"

"Why didn't you kill me? What made you change sides? Crisis of conscience?"

"Two hundred thousand gil! That money can last a long time! And I gave it all away because I was wrong! Is that what you want to hear? I was wrong! I never…" She sobbed once. "I didn't want to kill anyone who didn't deserve it. All he showed me was a picture of you, I don't even know who you are! I saw you, and…"

"Look." Arngrim placed the blade into the ground once again. "I will not hurt you. See? I just need some answers."

"Really?" the mithra's face changed, and he heard a tearing sound. One of her legs lashed out and kicked him in the chest. He faltered back, but held tightly onto her wrists. "That… didn't work…" she smiled sheepishly.

"Pretty nice kick, girl, but your friend Galanin was much stronger."_ She loosened or cut the bonds when she stretched. She's really good._

"He wasn't my frrriend, just my Tenshodo contact."

"So the Tenshodo have a price on my head?"

"What if they did?"

The big what if. He hadn't done anything in particular to personally offend Aldo, but in his capacity as a free roving mercenary over the past two years, he'd been involved in several missions to capture airships that were smuggling goods to and from Bastok. The offenders were often imprisoned, but they occasionally escaped. Perhaps someone reported his involvement.

"If they did… I would do what I do best. I would kill them, as many as I could. Starting with you of course, though it might be amusing to keep you around to see me deal with Aldo personally. Anyone involved, anyone who profited from it. All of them." She bristled visibly when he mentioned Aldo, and Arngrim made sure he looked pleased with this.

"You keep Aldo out of this." She looked ready for murder.

"Sorry, but business is business. I do not take kindly to attempts on my life. A friend one day is an enemy the next, that's what he said to me once."

She screamed something in mithran, trying to break free of his grasp, shouting and kicking at him ineffectually. Eventually, he caught one foot, twisted it at an odd angle and pinned against the bark.

"Aldo didn't assign the contract! Don't you dare hurt him! Galanin assigned it! Galanin!"

"And Galanin is under the employ of my brother. Which means your Aldo is safe, for now at least." He dropped the woman, who was swearing vehemently in basic, mithran, and elvaan. "Two hundred thousand eh?"

"They should have paid me more for this sort of trouble!" She shook off the foot, then set about breaking the bonds on her wrists while accounting for her things.

"You are something else." Arngrim whistled. "So what kind of poison was it?"

"Look, I'm sorrrry I hit you with two arrows, can we not talk about it?"

"White Lizard brew? You are from Elshimo, you try to hide the accent well."

"Shut up about that!" she screamed.

"Why did you miss my head? Come on, I am honestly curious."

"You are making me forget why I did!" Arngrim mock pouted at this. "You want to know why?"

"I am listening."

"You were smiling in the sketch of you they gave me."

Arngrim thought about this for a few minutes while she gathered her things.

"I'm sorry I troubled you." She said as she strapped her bow on to her back, looked to the north, where Valkurm dunes waited.

"Want to come with me?"

"What?"

"I was headed to San d'Oria. I have business there, after that I was headed to Jeuno. I wanted to speak with Aldo about Galanin." He shrugged. "I'll be honest with you, after yesterday, a part of my past has returned to nip at my heels. I cannot do this alone. I figure you could be of assistance with Galanin, seeing as you know him better than I."

"You are going to hunt him down? He's different frrrom when I took the contract with him." She shuddered. "I don't want to hunt down a monster."

"Well, you owe me."

"I said I was sorry!"

"He'll come for you." Arngrim spoke with finality. "He will. He's working with my brother for some goal, and there are three people in the world right now who know anything about this. One of them decided to bow out. I have personal reasons of course, and you can decline." He slipped on the damaged breastplate over his body. "If you do, that's fine." He picked up the longsword and sheathed it, adjusted some of his equipment until he was satisfied with the comfort, and began to walk in the direction where he knew San d'Oria lay.

A few minutes went by, and he could only hear his footsteps over the breeze that blew across La Theine. He sighed.

"How long are you going to keep following me?"

"I've not been to San d'Oria in a long time. What's your name?"

"Arngrim Gustavos, never caught yours."

"Callah Risa-Nhona."

They walked.


	5. Movement

Based in the Universe of FFXI, special thanks to SquareEnix.

**5 – Movement**

He was forty nine years of age, a time in life that most elvaan would begin consider a retirement from duties that involved the swinging of swords and the use of destructive magic. He was not one of them. He kept his armor presentable near the front of his house, so people could see what he was. His weapon of choice was kept next to it. He would polish it every morning before seeing his children off to their classes. His wife would help him, as she had for the last thirty years as of this morning.

"So you are leaving?" she asked while preparing the armor, polishing it so that the deep blue material could reflect its surroundings in the proper light.

"I must, but it is not something I enjoy." He sipped the tea she had prepared. "Are the children already off to school?"

"Yes."

He had moved in for a deep kiss, which she returned in kind. They held each other close.

"There is not enough time today…" He sounded wistful.

"You have three days, sir knight." She giggled.

"I'll be back well before then."

"Melas, I will hold you to that."

He broke the embrace, going over to and gripping the familiar weight the lance he'd fought with nearly his entire knighthood, a memento to previous times. Hard ones though they may have been. The two had weathered them well, the neighbors gossiped that they still looked as they did when they married.

"How much were you promised?" she asked, now working on the helm, a very ornamental piece of equipment, appearing almost as if it were the head of a dragon, its maw open and about to unleash death.

"Five hundred thousand gil."

"Almost enough to make it worth missing our anniversary." She finished the helm, efficient as always.

"Have I said recently that you are the only woman in this world that I could live with?"

"Just last night." She rose up from her seat and held him tightly from behind. "Altana will watch over you, I should not worry, yes?"

"I have been doing this for years now." His hands interlocked with hers, and they stayed this way for a long time.

-

"We'll be departing soon, Melasierg." The airship captain was an officious sort, but in his line of work, he had to be. His only failing in life was that he was hume, which sadly could not be helped, even if he had been born and raised in San d'Oria. "Please try to keep that lance of yours restrained, turbulence will-"

Melas looked at the man.

"We'll be going to Jeuno with nearly one billion gil in artifacts for the Archduke, you could at least be less intimidating."

"A mercenary that is not intimidating?" He sat down on a cushioned seat, lance nearly touching the roof of the passenger compartment. Melas did not like the conditions. There was only one place in Vana'diel where he enjoyed cramped spaces, and it was his home in Southern San d'Oria.

"Get used to this." The captain said, taking pleasure from the elvaan's obvious discomfort. "This vessel can sail at almost twenty thousand feet from the surface of this world, the temperatures outside are incredibly bitter."

"Why would anything need to exist at that height?"

"For our protection." The captain started to pull on a heavy overcoat. "Remember to seal and pressurize compartments if you feel the need to move about. Your presence is mostly required for the exchange of goods at our destination."

Melas tapped the porthole glass, not paying much attention to the captain. He'd heard this before. He noted a second airship in the dock across from his, undergoing various preparations.

"That's our decoy. She's an older vessel, I used to be the captain. She'll be flying much lower than us."

"What are we shipping? Artifacts or weapons?" Melas grunted. Two ships for one cargo. He'd heard of pirates of the sea, but this was seemingly ridiculous. "Tell me, is there anything I need to know about this job? I can cancel the contract and return to my wife and do far more interesting things than exchange handshakes with dignitaries while you sign over some boxes."

"You ask an awful lot of questions for a mercenary."

"I've always come back alive for it." The two shared a laugh. "I assume there will be guards on board the decoy as well?"

"Yes. Remember, she's still a ferry for people between nations, so the one mercenary we've hired for her, including the adventurers on board, should be enough to deal with any particular threat."

"Well then." Melas settled back into his seat, taking up a book he'd been reading for the last ten years. It was small enough to be read easily within a day or two, and yet he read this one with near religious devotion. He could recite its passages, something that would make his old master a very happy man.

_The Order of War_, by Balasiel.

The captain took one glance at the worn book, and sighed. "You elvaan are too obsessive."

-

Sunset in Southern San d'Oria was something that needed to be seen at least once in the lifetime of any individual. It was the last fortress city of the world, and its ramparts in the waning sun were a testament to their architects' aesthetic senses. Callah spun around, taking in the bustling capital in awe.

"This is _amazing._"

Arngrim had seen this place many times over the years, and he had to agree. Thousands of people still moved about on the main street, peddlers called out for prospective buyers to inspect their wares. Though much declined in prestige around the world in recent times, the elvaan nation showed life that Bastok could never hope for in its industrial drive to superiority.

"Have you seen Jeuno?"

"Yes… But this place means more to me."

This woman did try to kill him yesterday. He didn't understand.

"I'm going to the residential district. I sent my moogle out from Bastok three days ago, he ought to be here with my things. I'm going to be living here for some time." He sighed again as she didn't seem to be paying attention to him. "Look, meet me here in a few hours."

"Don't worry, I'll find you when I get bored." Callah waved at him, and raced off towards the auction house, promptly losing herself in the crowd. Arngrim reached out after her as if to restrain her, but he was far too late. Everything seemed to move around him, people oblivious to the outside world. He kept looking around, almost as if he were lost for a moment. Finally, he began to make his way through the festive atmosphere.

As he passed by the auction house, he noted a troupe of performers surrounded by a company of Royal Knights, still in their field gear, laughing and drinking. The stench was nearly overwhelming, a price paid by those who fought for this kingdom far away from its walls. Next to a lucky few knights sat their lovers or siblings. For these men and women, it had likely been weeks since they last saw their knight leave the walls of the city. If there was anything about the elvaan that Arngrim admired most, it was their total willingness to take the fight to the enemy. As such, they fared much better against the orcs than Bastok did with the quadav.

"Arngrim! You little round-eared whelp!" He spun around and found a familiar elvaan marching towards him with disgust written across his face. "You have something of mine, I see." A few of the knights gathered laughed at Arngrim's reaction, which was somewhere between a defensive stance and the wanting to run away stance.

"Exoroche, about that-"

The taller man embraced Arngrim fiercely.

"It was a good hunt my friend, an excellent one!" The Knight was clearly drunk off of his own exuberance.

Arngrim had met Exoroche in this market when he first left Bastok years ago. He'd been less experienced with elvaan society then, managing to get himself involved in a father-son dispute between the knight and his son Ailbeche. He'd ended up with the longsword following a trip into Ordelle's caves, a network of passages that run below La Theine plateau. Stupid boy, giving such a thing to an outsider.

"You smell of orc."

"Dead orc!" Exoroche let the smaller hume go. "I did not know you were going to be in San d'Oria, you must see the boy! He's taken after you it seems, practicing his swordsmanship and getting into trouble."

"I was here to give it back to you." Arngrim immediately removed the sword from his belt and presented it to the knight. "Your boy gave it to the wrong man, I'm not made for this weapon." Exoroche frowned at this.

"We'll need to get away from the crowds." He sounded very serious. "Knights! As of tonight our company is on respite for the week! CARRY ON!"

All four hundred soldiers present returned the order with as loud a warcry as they could muster. People nearby added their own cheers. Few things sounded more awe or fear inspiring than an entire company of motivated San d'Orian warriors.

"They make me proud Arngrim, they truly do."

"I see that." He pushed the weapon towards Exoroche, but the elvaan batted it aside.

"I want to speak with you about that, right this instant."

-

Callah sat in a corner all to herself in the Lion Springs Tavern, her mind still trying to sort through yesterday's events. She hadn't expected Arngrim to let her live, and the idea that he could have killed her and be justified in doing so was terrifying.

_Arngrim Gustavos, what sort of man are you?_

It was a question she found herself needing the answer to more and more, though she was coming to terms with the fact that the amber colored liquid in the shot glass before her was not going to answer it. It did make interesting patterns for her to stare at though, and for now, this was okay.

"_Is that all? I don't have any more time left for you."_

The mithra nearly snarled at this memory. She had little against the elvaan as a race, but their pure _arrogance!_ The nerve this one had! She would talk to Arngrim as soon as she found him, they were going to find that ridiculous mage, and she would show her that she was not someone to be dismissed so easily.

"Mock my memories will you?" She hissed at the brew in the glass before downing it. She stood up abruptly from her seat, knocking it over. She was going to see him.

-

Being punched in the nose, no matter what sort of training you could put yourself through, would always hurt to some degree. Arngrim found that being punched by a fist that was protected by an armored gauntlet in the nose would knock him against a wall, where he could take the time to look in surprise at the elvaan who wielded the fist.

"Give my weapon back, you say?" Exoroche sounded very dangerous, either a side effect of him being out in the fields on an expeditionary force, or something else. "I've known you have had it for some time. I made the whelp confess it to me within the day you and I had that argument."

"You are still a father of questionable talent." Arngrim wiped away the blood that had run from his nose. "Why should I keep such a thing?" Exoroche leaned against a wall of the alley they had traveled to for the confrontation.

"It is called the Honor Blade. Do you know why?"

"Some chivalrous knight found the strength to die in some field with an orcish axe in his back while he clutched the weapon?" Exoroche did not entertain the hume with another solid wallop to the face, but smoothed back his silver hair in an attempt to fight that very urge.

"I know for a fact that my son would not have given that weapon to you if you did not deserve it." He looked at Arngrim, almost showing pity. "As a Royal Knight, I've often traveled to Bastok as a cog in the political process. I know about you and your tenure in the Iron Musketeers. I was there for the Battle of North Gustaberg."

"So was I."

"That is why you have that weapon."

"So why do you not have it?"

"It's merely a symbol. I have at least three of those. That it is unique is not what gives it the name, and that there are more than one does not make it any less valuable." The elvaan began to walk out of the alley, back into the celebration. "My son gave you an Honor Blade, I apologize for mistaking your weapon with my own. Try to find the one he gave you for the next time we see each other."

Arngrim watched the elvaan go back out into the crowds. He watched as he shifted past Callah, who had seen everything happen. She stayed a safe distance away from Arngrim, not entirely certain what to do.

"I… Did you want to turn in for the night?"

"Meet me by the chocobo stable in the morning. We ride to Jeuno." He got himself to his feet once more, and moved on into the masses.

-

"ARNGRIM, YOU BASTARD!" Stiltzkin flitted about angrily, tears streaming from his eyes. "I had taken the best care of your breastplate! Gods, what of the great sword? Do not tell me the-"

"Broken. Shattered. Gone, Stiltzkin, gone." Arngrim sat in a seat of his temporary home, eating his first real meal since leaving Bastok. Field rations did not count, and the moogle had been kind enough to at least cook for him all the while bitching about the state Arngrim had arrived in. Another reason to love the elvaan was their attention to the rent-a-rooms. The accommodations were much better than his own in Bastok, eclipsed only by Jeuno in quality.

"Did you TRY to get killed on the way here? Good lord man." Stiltzkin began to fuss with Arngrim's hair. "Bloodied up again, did you try fighting a tremor ram? Or mating with one?"

"Arbalest." The moogle quieted down after that. "I want you to take the money you have brought here, and buy what I will need."

"What will you be doing?"

"Finding him." Arngrim stabbed the fork he was using into the table abruptly. "And then killing him." He proceeded to relay the events of the previous day to the moogle, who alternated between terrified and angry.

"You're very fortunate for that Red Mage, she must have taken a liking to you." Stilzkin spoke in the silence that followed.

"She did not. I'm a hume, and she was elvaan. The two are as compatible as my sword and your arse."

"You sound bitter."

"I would have liked to have thanked her for keeping me alive!" Arngrim finished a glass of water.

"So you will be headed to Jeuno tomorrow morning? In the company of that mithra?"

"Callah is an excellent ranger, from what I see. She's also not going to double cross me, if that is what you are worried about. Life debts are wonderful things." He handed the dishes to the moogle, preparing himself for sleep.

"Arngrim, don't make this your only mission in life." The moogle cautioned. "When you wake up, you'll have your gear. Try to return with it in one piece this time."

"Always."

"How did you and Exoroche get on?"

Arngrim leered.

"Good night, master." The moogle sighed, retrieved the gil purse from the dresser, and went off to the streets.

-

The Archduke had been there to personally oversee the cargo as it had left the airships. Melas had been surprised by the appearance, and a little concerned. Just how important was the cargo for it to need the involvement of Kam'lanaut? That did not matter now. By tomorrow evening, he would be back in San d'Oria, and he could see Balmina and the children again.

He found himself wandering around the Airship docks. People of all races worked round the clock shifts to maintain the air going vessels, and he found it easy to get himself lost in all the activity and just observe. The docks themselves also provided an amazing view of Jeuno at night. A hand made stone fortress at sea, connected to the mainland by three massive bridges. It was a feat of engineering, a show of power, and something for all of the nations to rally behind. Jeuno was surrounded by the bleak memories of war, and yet here lay the hopes and dreams of hundreds of thousands of people, guarded by those willing to fight for something so vulnerable.

He could not rest in homes other than his own, never could. Being alone without his wife was nothing he cared for, so he would be here for the night. He could rest easier once he was back in the air on the ship, and he could sleep once he returned.

"So, you're the other mercenary?"

"I see you have decided not to follow the crew to the inn as well." Melas sized up the other man. Hume, spiked blond haired, eyes that shifted between emeralds and clear skies. He was compactly built, muscular, shorter than the elvaan. Had an obvious preference for black, as seen by his loose clothing and robes.

"The name is Galanin." He said. "Pleasure meeting you…"

"Melas." The elvaan continued to flip through _The Order of War_. "Let me ask you this, and stop me if your contract prevents you from answering. What were we escorting?"

"Magicite." To this, Melas raised an eyebrow.

"Not exactly common material." He noted several airships being fitted with large bore cannonry of a kind he'd not seen before. "It would be interesting if those had to do with it."

"Altana forbid. Windurst showed what magicite could accomplish in the Great War, look at Sauromugue to the east."

"I bore witness, yes."

"Did you now?" Galanin eyed this elvaan with some doubt. Melas flipped another page in his book. Galanin shook his head and sauntered off.

---

And I'm back after a very lengthy hiatus. Here's hoping whomever reads this story finds it enjoyable.


	6. A Change in the Order

**6 – Change in The Order**

Melas watched the sunrise from his seat onboard the airship. The captain had visited him again, making sure that the mercenary was comfortable. He also had come with the payment: a voucher worth five hundred thousand gil, and compliments on a job well done. The elvaan could not help but feel as though he had somehow cheated the man out of his money. Was his presence really all that was needed for this? With this sort of money, he could actually begin thinking of retirement.

"You do not look pleased." The hume had said.

"Why magicite?"

"I'm only a ship captain. Whatever a government decides is out of my hands."

"What are we taking back to San d'Oria?" Melas pointed at the dockworkers milling about between both his ship and the decoy ship.

"Jeuno is grateful for the San d'Orian cooperation in this matter, and your Royals feel the same."

Melas watched as passengers began to board the second ship. He found a growing distaste for this job in that moment. These people didn't even know what they were getting in to. He spied Galanin at the stern of the vessel, away from any others. He looked like he had fallen asleep against one of the main turbines on the deck.

_Only two of us for something like this._

He indulged himself in his text.

-

Callah was amazed when she saw Arngrim waiting for her at the stables. She was certain that she would be there first, and she was surprised that he'd been able to afford a mythril breastplate to replace his old one. He had the long sword still, and strapped to his back was a new greatsword. He looked ready for a small war, and she let him know that.

"Just in case." He replied.

She couldn't figure out exactly what the man was like. It was like a game to her, to be able to predict those around her. She was good at it. This one was very different. He had paid for the chocobos, and being among the last few at the stables so early in the day, Arngrim had forked over two plates worth a thousand gil apiece. The mithra would have rather walked than pay such prices.

"You didn't… You didn't need to pay for that, mine anyway."

"You would rather walk?" Arngrim climbed onto his mount, the giant bird squawking once in brief protest. "If it's money you are worried about, it's not something I worry about, so why should you?" She just shook her head. One of the elvaan stable handlers came up to them and started to lead their mounts towards the gates. "I've got more than enough of it squirreled away."

"What kind of work have you done to be so secure in your funds?" She figured Arngrim wouldn't tell. Mercenaries and adventurers rarely shared secrets.

"I kill things, escort things, and guard things. That's actually pretty recent, about two years or so."

"Please be careful with our Chocobos!" the stable handler pleaded, bowing respectfully to the two riders.

"Nothing to worry about with us!" Callah nudged the sides of her mount with a squeeze of her legs, and it chirped in reply before taking off, Arngrim riding just beside her. "So what else? I've done much of that escorting and guarding things you talk about, but I wouldn't be so careless with my money."

"I used to be in the Iron Musketeers." Arngrim chuckled. "They paid pretty well in the time that I was a part of them."

"Used to be?"

"Then came the First Defensive Battle of North Gustaberg." He looked away for a moment. "I had to leave after that. They did pay me handsomely to try and keep me. The armor I had been assigned also was worth plenty in the right hands, it's how I met Aldo."

"You? A Musketeer? I've heard stories of theirrr actions on that day…" She was wrong about him again, she wouldn't have guessed this, wouldn't have known unless he'd spoke of it. "So now I ask you, why am I still alive?"

"You're pretty good, killing you would have been a mistake, and you didn't need it." He kicked at the chocobo's sides, and the pace nearly doubled, the bird lowering it's head into the wind, Callah upped the pace of her mount to match. "I want to get to Jeuno as quickly as we can. An airship is faster, but I've no Airship Pass, and neither do you. I want to take the land route through Jugner. These will have to do, they seem strong so I don't think this will hurt them."

"Prrretty good you say?" the Mithra asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"Don't dwell on it."

-

The ship had made a very sharp bank quite suddenly, and Melas gripped onto his seat tightly. They had been in the air for an hour or so, just passing over Jugner now, the sudden jolt was very out of place. He'd ridden on many different high altitude airships before. He could see smoke trailing from something far below. He pressed against the porthole to see if he could get a better angle, but the view was too limited. He looked at his lance, a chill passing through him. He stood from his seat, making for the compartment door, lance in hand.

It opened as he put his hand on the handle, a very distraught ship captain on the other side.

"What is going on?"

"Something's happened on the first ship. We just saw some people get thrown off, we think there are hijackers, one of my observers says they are seeing magic-"

"We've little time." Melas moved past the captain, heading for the deck.

"Melasierg! It is freezing cold on the deck, why in all the hells are you-"

"My job is to guard these ships. Innocent people are being thrown off of one of them. I'm going down there."

"Melas!" The captain tossed a pearl at the mercenary, who caught it without looking. "Whatever is going on down there, you need to tell me, you understand?"

"Of course." Melas slipped the small pearl into his right ear. Reaching underneath his chest plate, he pulled out the voucher for the gil he'd earned for this contract. "Seyn, get this to my wife. Get this to Balmina. Do you understand?"

"You have my word, what do I tell her?"

"I'll be running late." He got to the deck's pressure door. "You'd better get to the bridge."

"You're insane!" Captain Seyn called, as he scrambled towards the bridge compartment.

"I'm a Dragoon."

-

They had gotten across the great plateau quickly, the strides of the chocobos unbroken since they left San d'Oria, pausing on occasion to feed them greens purchased at the vendors. Behind them was the great crag of Holla, and before them lay the rather imposing Jugner Forest. They stopped once more to feed the birds, Callah watching as Arngrim spoke softly to his mount, reminding it that it was doing well, assuring it that everything was alright.

"You're rather good with animals." The mithra didn't bother to hide it; the hume genuinely impressed her. He replied with a half smile.

"Practice, Callah. You would have thought otherwise of me if you'd met me years ago." As he looked back to the forest his gaze traveled upwards. "Smoke? Coming from the air?" The mithra looked into the distance, squinting slightly.

"An airship… That's the source. I can't tell you much else, it looks like it's losing altitude." Arngrim patted the chocobo's head once before kicking it's sides, the mount immediately sprinting into the forest, Callah following a second later. "It may be coming down in Jugner!" She added quickly.

"Let us hope they do not fall in to Davoi, or else any survivors will be lost."

-

The deck of the ship was slick with frost, so with each step Melas took, his lance dug into the deck to steady himself as he made his way to the sides. Seyn was maneuvering the ship to be somewhat over and ahead of the lower airship, but they were still thousands of feet away. It would take time that they didn't have to get closer. He stood out on the railing.

"Fly, Altana be with you." Seyn spoke into his ear from the linkshell.

Melas leapt.

His heart sang, and a part of his younger days returned, the air whistling past his ears, the lance tip of his weapon sliding away, revealing the adamantine spear that was hidden underneath, and he pointed himself at the airship. One of the engines was aflame and out of commission, at this rate the ship would be coming down hard in Jugner.

A familiar roar accompanied his fall, and Melas smiled. To his right was his second 'other half', a brilliant azure dragon whelp, slightly larger than chocobo, eyes locked onto the elvaan questioningly, and it knew. A single flap of it's wings, and it moved over the falling elvaan's back, talons grasping onto his pauldrons, guiding him. They closed in faster now, details of the ship now coming into focus. No one was on the decks. A few more seconds till he was there.

He adjusted his angle, legs extended towards the ship, and the whelpling matched this, the dive slowing somewhat, now aimed at the deck rather than through it. With nothing save the beat of his heart in his ears, he shrugged, and his dragon released him. He tensed.

His heavy armor made the wooden deck planks buckle, and his momentum was enough to drive him across the entire length of the ship towards the cabin door that lead to the lower deck. He whirled the spear once as he closed in, and thrust it forward, the door splintering from the assault, decorating the stairway down with debris as he streaked through, leaping over the first set of stairs. He planted the spear into the far wall, and half spun to check the second set of stairs that led further down into a hallway, hanging from the wall and sagging down to the floor, the weight of his gear pulling the spear through the wall. If the enemy did not see him coming, they certainly knew he was here now.

"I'm on board, Seyn" he whispered, remembering the linkshell, the high of his fall fading away.

Blood stained the steps, a trail from a body apparently having been dragged down them, leading off to the blind corner to the right. Pockmarks from musket and pistol fire dotted the walls, with the remnants of arterial sprays dripping from the ceiling. The body of a hume female sat against the wall, head hanging to one side limply, her white robes stained red with clearly fatal wounds. Before her lay a taru, the little man gasping for breath, reaching towards the ceiling with shivering hands before at last fading, the arm collapsing to the carpet with a dull thud.

Melas worked his spear free from the wall with a single pull, whirling it once and holding it at the ready, walking down the steps briskly. He glanced to his left, and saw a figure shrouded in black, a cloak hiding its' face, an ungainly four barreled rifle of some kind hanging loosely towards the deck. The elvaan stared right at where the face was supposed to be. Niether spoke for a long moment, until Melas decided to.

"This your work?"

The figure tossed its' head back once, easing the cloak away, revealing a darker skinned hume with greasy, wild jet black hair, green eyes that seemed to glow dimly in the simple lighting of the cabin.

"It's easier to pull a trigger, than use a spear." The man spoke, raising the miniature cannon at the Elvaan.

"Getting your gun off?" Melas taunted.

"Of course."

The elvaan heard footsteps behind him, heavy armored ones, accompanied by less distinct others. He half turned to face the new arrivals, and a frown passed across his face.

"It is nothing personal." Galanin said, standing to the left of an individual in polished, dark armor. "These people had to die, Melas. Just the same as you have to." He gestured to the gunman with a curt nod. "Anton."

"This one is a full Dragoon." The dark armored man intoned, removing his helm, displaying his terrible scar across the face, brushing aside strands of hair. "If I may ask you, warrior to warrior." The Elvaan did not relax as he turned completely to size up the speaker. "When you fight, do you fight for your government? Or do you fight for the things you truly care for?"

"I've a family." Melas glanced to his left. The passenger compartment door was there. He gazed back at the apparent leader of these killers.

"A better answer I could not have expected." The man smiled, turning towards the far balcony that fed out into the open air. Melas moved, diving at the door with surprising speed, just as Anton fired. Galanin leaned aside with equal deftness, the shot passing near his face with mere inches to spare. The man in the heavy armor also moved, far too fast to be a normal hume, a sword flashing from a sheath as he turned, a spark exploding before him, a part of the wall blasted away by the deflected shot. "Take him. I will meet you where it is safe."

"Arbalest, this ship is gone in three minutes." Anton said, calmly loading a new shell into his weapon. "We've the refined materials here secured, and the numbers for the storage spaces in question at Jeuno. All we need is the final few pieces."

"Three minutes?" Galanin questioned.

"Enough time to ensure we make an example out of the old man."

"Excellent work, the both of you. I'm off. I'm taking Lian and Vaelast with me. Ensure the Dragoon cannot speak of this in detail to anyone." The heavy armored knight strode towards the balcony, hands moving in a series of signs, a pillar of light forming around him.

"What about your injuries?" Galanin fastened his katars to his fists with practiced ease.

"Arngrim fared much worse. I've much to accomplish. He hasn't hindered me." The light faded, along with the hume. The monk sighed, then glanced to where the dragoon had thrown himself to.

"Anton, I don't suppose you could poke your head in there and coax the old one out?" The corsair muttered something under his breath, pulling out a second weapon from his cloak, a crossbow of some form, a box sticking out ungainly atop the weapon, the tips of a dozen bolts within glinting with menace.

Melasierg was fairly convinced that he was about to lose his life.

"Seyn. What was this ship carrying? The passengers are all dead. The attackers so far as I am able to tell consist of Humes."

"We were taking back refined magicite cannon shells to San d'Oria. The only place in Vana'diel that can process the crystals for such use is Jeuno. For months now we've been switching between the high altitude ships and the passenger ships to ferry the weaponry back and forth between the nations. We've never had-"

"Seyn, I am about to be very busy. Get that money to where it belongs, and get the authorities on this as soon as you are able."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to try to live."

Melas was in the center of the passenger hold of the airship. Striding in briskly were the monk and the corsair, taking up either side of the door that had been shattered when the elvaan dove through it. The corsair raised his weapons at Melas, but did not fire immediately.

"You surely must have heard." Galanin said, assuming a relaxed defensive posture. "Almost two minutes until this ship is destroyed. While myself and Anton have a means to get to safety, I doubt even the fastest of wyverns could save you."

"Since I am about to die, why don't you just tell me the whole works now?"

"Don't even think about it." Anton fired a bolt from the crossbow, aiming wide purposely. "You have a linkpearl. You came from the other airship."

"It's about the magicite?"

"Something like that." Galanin slipped his hands into the grips of his katars. "This can go very quickly or very painfully."

The hume pair found themselves surprised when the dragoon had already moved within a few paces of them, spear deflecting a pair of bolts and a shot from the pistol Anton wielded. It began.

-

Arngrim and Callah drove their feathered mounts harder, seeing just how low that airship had sunk towards the ground. To their dismay, it was most assuredly crashing into Davoi, listing into a slow turn that degraded into a shallow dive towards the orcish stronghold. Over the sounds of the trees whipping past them, they could hear the roars of the beastmen, the war drums beating loudly. The whole forest echoed of killers anticipating the victims or their possessions.

"Arngrim…we should-"

"Not be headed this way? I don't intend to fight every single orc." He tossed back a half grin that seemed to be his trademark. "Have I scared the kitten?"

"Why do humes insist on referring to my people as kittens, or cats?" She glared at him.

"Changing the subject or genuine curiosity?"

"Both."

"Silly girl. Have you taken a look at yourself in a mirror?" He could hear her sniff with indignantly, causing him to laugh.

"I do not look like a house pet."

"The ears? The tail? The fur?" He added.

"Is it so hard to just call us Mithra?"

"Well, I suppose I haven't heard you refer to me as a smoothskin just yet. I could call you Mithra."

"Thank you."

"Cat is much easier though." She sighed at this. "Why get so upset over it? You're a person just like anyone else."

"I don't like being referred to as something that normally belongs to a person." Her mount had pulled up alongside of Arngrim's. "I'm not property."

"Why were you selling your services as a Ranger?" He ducked down slightly in his seat to avoid a branch that nearly knocked him off the chocobo. "For a woman who values her personal identity and freedom, it is strange that you'd press yourself into that sort of service."

"If I had to belong to anyone, it would have to be one man and one man alone." She sounded wistful.

"Aldo never told me about a Mithra." Again, that stupid grin of his, she thought to herself. She could feel her cheeks warm significantly, and silently hoped that he didn't notice her fur bristle with the discomfort she felt.

"What has he said?" Her voice nearly broke.

"Nothing about a woman. You don't have to act jealous quite yet." He chuckled upon hearing her growl. "I seem to be skilled at finding subjects you don't care for."

"I-indeed." She shifted on the mount, peering through the canopy of the trees at where the airship had fallen to. There was a bright flash, and her mouth dropped open to cry out in surprise. They heard the sound a moment later, their mounts rearing back and squawking in protest.

-

It was a fight unlike any other Melas had participated it. In the moment that he charged, a rush unlike any other coursed through him. He did not want to die. He would not die. He would make it so. He would see Balmina again. This he decreed. And he moved.

Anton fired a spray of bolts as the elvaan as he moved, and hit nothing but adamantine spear as it whirled before the dragoon protectively, his own pistol shot wide by a foot. Too fast, far too fast-

Galanin cross arm blocked an overhead swing from the dragoon's weapon, and found that he'd sunk into the floorboards from the power behind the swing, and in the brief second he earned himself from backpedaling away, felt the unfamiliar sensation of being out of control of his situation, but did not feel angry. This was something he'd not felt in some time. He leaned back from a determined swipe for his neck from the spear, then launched forward, trying to drive the elvaan back, and found that the seemingly heavily armored warrior was far more nimble than expected, shifting around the monk, smacking the monk across the back with his polearm while taking his legs out from under him in the same motion.

Anton fired another bolt, watched it be deflected, watched the dragoon close the short gap, batting aside another three bolts before one struck home on his chest, through the plate. He batted the crossbow away, sending the corsair spinning. Whirling back to face Galanin, Melas parried a frenzied series of strikes, heard the loud click of Anton's pistol reloaded and ready to fire, spun 'round once more, catching Galanin in the jaw with the blunt end, the blade catching the pistol and knocking it upward as it fire, the shot striking the crown of his helm, shattering it. As the pieces fell free, Melas spun his weapon once more, sending the firearm across the room.

The vessel seemed to quake violently. Pain shot through the back of his head, and Melas tumbled forward, tasting blood in his mouth and a second pain through his back now. He saw that one of Galanin's katars was coated in his blood. Pulling the bolt stuck in him made him gasp with the effort.

He was losing. The fight was too restrained here.

"What did these people do to deserve this?" Melas spat blood to the deck.

"If they were not here, they would have lived. Nobody can report our faces. Not for this."

"Refined magicite cannon shells?" Coughing, Melas took up a defensive stance

"Galanin?" The corsair was rapidly making a set of magical seals. "We've got to escape, now."

"True enough, meet you shortly. I'll finish this."

The ship did shudder violently this time, Melas tossed into the air. He spun around in the sudden rush of air, and saw that all around him, the ship was coming apart in massive chunks, explosives that had been set finally going off, deafening at such close proximity. He vaguely could make out the gunman's form fading away from what remained of the passenger compartment, and saw that Galanin stood firm on the badly listing piece of airship, staring at the near helpless elvaan.

A gentle light surrounded the dragoon, and he glanced at the source; the wyvern had managed to keep up, breathing a stream of light over its' master. The potentially mortal wounds he'd sustained faded away, and Melas righted himself in the air, the wyvern assisting him as he set foot on another massive piece of falling wreckage.

Galanin's expression shifted between shock and rage.

Melas beckoned the monk to make the first move. Jugner loomed below. Thirty seconds. Maybe less.

He was going to be very late.

- -

Man, I do take a while between chapters. Read and review if you'd liek folks, and I hope you enjoyed it.


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